


Xtreme

by Nebulad



Series: Whiskey Molotov [21]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Gen, non-graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In the grand tradition of old world warriors, today you fine folk will be undertaking a challenge like no other you have faced in recent memory. On my signal and in your teams, we will recreate the time-honoured trials and tribulations that the people of a world before ours called… grocery shopping,” Longfellow said, one hand on his belt and the other on a pipe. “You all know the rules. In and out as fast as possible, fill your cart with only the necessities, and your partner is responsible for shooting everything in your path. At the end, the team with the most supplies submitted to me the fastest wins the evening.”</p><p>“Just like the good old days,” Deacon said, taking off his wig to hold it against his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xtreme

The world was blanketed in a thick wasteland chill, the ground positively frosted over in the dim light of evening. Breath froze midair and five people shifted their weight back and forth in front of the Super Duper Market trying to keep warm. Hancock was especially cold, but didn’t mention anything to Old Longfellow about hurrying the fuck up before his ghoul ass froze— it would make him stingier with the points when the time came, and Audrey had her heart set on a victory on this momentous evening.

“In the grand tradition of old world warriors, today you fine folk will be undertaking a challenge like no other you have faced in recent memory. On my signal and in your teams, we will recreate the time-honoured trials and tribulations that the people of a world before ours called… grocery shopping,” Longfellow said, one hand on his belt and the other on a pipe (he burned some strange and sweet-smelling thistle… thing that Hancock had never tried, mostly because it wasn’t hallucinogenic). “You all know the rules. In and out as fast as possible, fill your cart with only the necessities, and your partner is responsible for shooting everything in your path. At the end, the team with the most supplies submitted to me the fastest wins the evening.”

“Just like the good old days,” Deacon said, taking off his wig to hold it against his heart. Cait cackled, no doubt already pulsing with adrenaline. Hancock flexed his hands against the handle of the cart, ready to go on Audrey’s signal. She was handling the headshots this evening, mostly because she could shoot ten ferals before they even got up off the ground and he was less discriminate about filling the cart.

“On your marks!” Longfellow announced, reaching out for the flag. “Get set… _go.”_ He brought down the ratty cloth in one swoop and Audrey shoved against the small of his back. It was his cue to take off, bashing in the already broken doors with the bent metal of his cart.

He didn’t worry about the ferals— that was Audrey’s job after all, and he had to fill the goddamn cart— so he sped past the registers like his ass was on fire, kicking up debris as he headed for the aisles. The real challenge of this game was, of course, to fill the cart. Grocery stores had been pretty well scavved out fairly soon after the bombs went off, so now grabbing stuff was a matter of luck and dexterity. Cait, his rival cart-driver, had the advantage of advanced lockpicking skills. Hancock, on the other hand, was restricted to shit he found laying around.

He tore open a crate and found a load of Sugar Bombs which was a lucky goddamn start. An inch from his head, a bullet flew past and a foot in front of him, a feral’s head exploded. He hadn’t even bothered to try and track which way Audrey went, but by the sounds of boots up to his right he assumed that she was on top of the shelves.

With the crate empty he fired forward, toward the pharmacy. It was a risky move, but with chems or medical supplies in the cart you didn’t have to fill it up as high with food. He could have always cheated and filled it with his own stash, but it sorta defeated the purpose of the game. He found a small bundle of blood bags labelled _for Ack-Ack,_ which was a damn shame for whatever Raider that name belonged to. Audrey shot another feral behind him but he ignored it, brushing the bags into the cart and barrelling into the back room.

He could hear the steady snapping of Deacon’s rifle and Cait hollering as she found things, but tried to drown it out in favour of pulling through boxes. Most were empty or filled with moulded over paper, but there was one with some bags of chips stashed inside. It hardly filled the cart but it was providing a nice foundation, and no matter how good Cait was at picking locks she still needed to _find_ them. Hancock was feeling pretty good about their situation as Audrey took out another shambling fuck. All things considered, the place was pretty quiet— Raiders must have torn through a good number of ferals on their way in and out.

Next stop were the actual aisles which held very little prospect of having shit— so long as you were looking on the shelves. Hancock had been around the block a few times and knew that clumsy ass scavvers would drop shit that would get lost in the debris on the floor, so while the less savvy player would try to see if something on the top shelf had been overlooked, Hancock did the dignified thing and dropped to his knees to siphon through garbage. Audrey was picking ferals off right and fucking left now, so he tried to haul it.

He found a box of Fancy Lads, some Pork ‘N’ Beans, and two cans of dog food when Audrey very suddenly fucking landed on him. She was wrestling a feral and only barely managing to not start panicking as more closed in. It was the downside of both Cait and Hancock having snipers as their partners— inevitably, someone slipped the fuck up.

He whipped his gun out, rolling just so that Audrey would land in a position that she could spring out of and get back into the fight. She did, standing back to back to him as he began taking out the nearest ferals with heavy blasts of shotgun fire. Three hit the ground as Audrey rammed the butt of her gun into the side of one’s head— he called _switch_ and they spun around each other in a perfectly practiced dance. He blasted what had gotten too close to her while she started firing at the ones that weren’t in his range.

He finished with the nearest shamblers on her end, creating a sour smelling pile of ragged corpses. Whatever stragglers that had been on his side had been neatly dispensed, and he kicked the bodies to the side as Audrey dropped to the ground to steady her rifle as quickly as possible between the vantage of his legs. He watched the ferals’ range as she steadied herself, and then picked them off in five precise shots. They stood like that in perfect silence for five _Diamond Cities._

The quiet kept and Audrey sagged in relief, pushing her rifle to the side and rolling over on her back to look up at him. He grinned, crooked and slow because… well that was a fucking adrenaline shot straight to the heart, and he loved to watch her work. He liked it better when she did manage to silently pick everyone off— once she’d shot about six Raiders through a hole in the wall without any of them finding her and he swore he was having a fucking religious experience— but he’d never been one to sit back and let someone else do all the work either.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked and she grinned back up at him with all her teeth— clean and white and just a little wild. He was about ready to drop into the dirt next to her like a proper fucking gentleman when suddenly her grin broke and she shot up, barely avoiding sending his nuts into his brain.

“The cart!” she blurted, and he jolted into action again. He spun— the fucking thing wasn’t full but whatever, Longfellow would just send them back out again anyway— and shoved the rickety metal cage back towards the door where the old codfish would be standing…

And they were just in time to watch Deacon and Cait jump into a celebratory chest-bump that sent Deacon backwards about a solid foot. “Son of a _bitch.”_ Audrey scowled, turning on her heel to storm back into the store. The turn was unlucky and the rubble was really out to get her that day, and she dropped like she’d just been shot clean. The _son of a bitch_ after that one was pronounced enough to send everyone over to them, dragging their half-full cart behind them.

“Drey?” Deacon kneeled next to her and she waved him off, sitting up and looking down at her ankle. It was a bit bruised up but not bent funny or nothing— sprained, if Hancock had to guess. Cait might have known better but didn’t seemed to be any more concerned, so he was willing to stand by it.

“Next time we’re going to Fallon’s,” Audrey insisted, trying to get up. Four separate pairs of hands went to keep her back down. “Or a fucking diner or something.”

“Diners probably won’t have prepackaged food,” Deacon offered while Cait moved as if she were going to lift Audrey up. She was waved away just like Deacon.

“Move the stuff from our cart to yours and just wheel me back,” she said, shifting her weight.

“Over broken roads and shite?” Cait asked. She frowned, like she’d just remembered that the road was probably too rough to gently wheel her anywhere. Night was falling fast anyway, so it’d probably be a pain in the ass to try and maneuver her without dropping her in a pothole or rolling over her ride. Rolling back food was one thing— anything lost was easily retrieved and wouldn’t be bruised or scraped up by the fall.

“Come on Sunshine. Let’s keep Team Bufftat together,” John offered, turning his back to her. She got the message and shifted forward to latch onto him for a piggyback. A few years back and he probably wouldn’t have been able to lift her— ghoul strength only counted for so much, and less when you ate Jet for breakfast— but at the moment it wasn’t too bad, actually. He’d probably be winded when they finally got back, but it was a damn sight better than when he’d started.

“Team Bufftat? You didn’t tell me we get to name teams,” Deacon argued as they stepped out into the night. Audrey shivered, huddling down closer to him— in her padded winter jacket, he was even sort of grateful for the extra warmth.

“Your team already has a name,” she told him. “Team Natural Ginger.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re a ginger.”

“Longfellow how many points did we win by?” Deacon asked loudly.

“Seventy-five.” Hancock felt Audrey turn to look at him.

“You can’t just help him, you’re supposed to be neutral!” she insisted. John grinned, feeling a little lighter in step. He fucking loved grocery days, despite the absurdly high rate of injury every time they went out. On the bright side, at least this time it wasn’t him.

**Author's Note:**

> An anon prompted me for Audrey and Hancock shopping and I have no self control. This happened like _immediately_ afterwards. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com): my nonsense, straight to your tumblr dash.


End file.
